Ashes to Ashes

Bullets rained down all around him, and Darragh Callaghan ducked his head as low to the floor as he could, gripping his gun tightly but powerless to do anything about it until there was a lull in the firing, because at the moment he was pinned to the floor. He pressed his cheek right against the cold tarmac of the dusty Belfast road, and all Darragh could think about was his family. He was by now convinced he was going to be killed, and all he could think of was his wife, Grainne, and their three small children.

He couldn't just lie here anymore, waiting for death. He was just about to shuffle backwards and try to get out of the way of the bullets, but here were suddenly gunshots behind him and he pressed his head to the floor again, squeezing his eyes shut.

"Darragh! Come on!" someone yelled in a thick Belfast accent. The voice belonged to Darragh's best friend, Oisin O'Donnell. Darragh trusted Oisin with everything, including his life, and that was what made him jump up and run towards his best friend, firing back at the British soldiers as he went. Oisin ran just behind him, and they didn't stop until they had got deep into their area. They lived in the Ardoyne, a Catholic area surrounded by several large Protestant areas. Despite this, it was still an IRA stronghold.

"You all right?" Oisin asked, straightening up as they caught their breath and looking at his best friend of twenty years.

"I'm fine, thanks to you." Darragh smiled, and then he chuckled. "God, what would I do without you?" Oisin laughed.

"It's what I'm for." he pulled off his balaclava off and shoved it into his pocket. Oisin's face was young, like Darragh's. He had soft brown eyes that seemed to draw everyone in, and they always seemed to be warm. Oisin was the calmer of the two friends. Darragh had bright, deep blue eyes and a fiery temper. It was usually Oisin who pulled him aside and calmed him down. Darragh followed Oisin's lead, and when they'd caught their breath and hidden the guns, they made their way on foot towards a safehouse, where they would drop of the guns and make their way home.

They arrived only a few minutes later and Oisin rapped on the door firmly three times. The door opened, and another one of the Volunteers in their unit opened the door. Diarmuid Feeny was over ten years older than Darragh and Oisin, in his mid-thirties. He was a stern man who didn’t warm to people very often, but everyone had grown to tolerate his random moods.

"Did it go well?" he demanded as the two young men entered the house.

"Not really." Darragh said. "They worked out that we were coming and then they opened fire. I near got shot up and Oisin saved my ass again."

"We can’t have this, Callaghan!" Diarmuid snapped.

"What do you mean?" Darragh turned and folded his arms, glaring.

"This is the second operation you've cocked up in. We can't have it! It won't do!"

"Oh, and I suppose you're the expert now?" Darragh shot back.

"All right, you pair." Oisin stepped in with his trademark calm voice. "He couldn't help it, Diarmuid. They literally came out of nowhere. He had the guy in his sights and then they just opened up. Bullets were everywhere." Darragh continued glaring, but nodded his agreement at what Oisin had explained.

"Ah, you would stick up for him, wouldn’t you, O'Donnell?" Diarmuid asked, but he backed down slightly. 'We can’t have it again, lads. The efficiency of this unit is going down. Again. We want a few good operations before the year's out.'

"Have you anything else planned?" Darragh asked, his teeth still slightly gritted.

"Next Monday. Which reminds me, I need to brief you on that now."

"Next Monday?" Darragh asked, annoyed again. "I can't do it next Monday, Feeny."

"And why not?" Diarmuid asked hotly.

"Because next Monday is Christmas Day, that's why." Darragh was speaking through gritted teeth once more.

"Well tough shit." Diarmuid's voice rose slightly.

"I have three children, all right?" Darragh asked. "How will they feel when they know their father's not going to be home for Christmas?"

"Daddy is an IRA man." Diarmuid glared. "And so Daddy has to put the IRA first." Darragh took a threatening step forwards, and Oisin grabbed his friend by the shoulder and pulled him back.

"Se brea, Darragh," he muttered, speaking to Darragh in Irish and telling him it was fine. "Se ta go maith." Oisin told Darragh it was OK, but Darragh couldn’t believe it.

"Conas?" he snapped. "Se ni cor ar bith ta go maith!" Diarmuid glared at the two friends.

"What do you mean it's not OK, Callaghan?" he asked. He knew Gaelic also, much to the annoyance of Darragh and Oisin. "It's a fucking order. You'll do it or you'll suffer the consequences."

"It's all right for you." Darragh hissed. "You'll be safe at home eating your Christmas lunch while me and Oisin go out and risk getting shot."

"Actually," Diarmuid said casually. "It will only be you risking getting shot. Oisin is only driving."

"Oh, all right." Darragh's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You can still hope to get me bumped off, can’t you?"

"Shut up, Callaghan." Diarmuid rolled his eyes. "Oisin will drive you."

"Where?"

"You'll find that out on Monday! Classified information mean anything to you?"

"I'm a fucking Volunteer! I'll be doing the shooting! I think I should know!"

"You know Duxford House on the outskirts of South Belfast?" Darragh's jaw dropped.

"You have to be fucking joking."

"Well, I'm not. Anyway." Diarmuid gave Darragh a look which told him on thing: Shut up and listen. "Oisin will drive you early Monday morning. You get there about eight, and he'll be out getting wood for the fire in the living room. You go in, get the family into the living room, and then when he comes in you blast his head off with an AK-47. Got it?"

"On Christmas Day?" Darragh asked. "In front of his family? I have my limits, Feeny."

"Well you had better get rid of them, eh?"

"I'll be shot. You can't expect him to have no one gaurding the place, can you?"

"Well, we all know that Mr. Simon Henderson isn't the brightest star in the sky." Dairmuid rolled his eyes. "He had no security measures at all. He has a strict routine which he never varies, and he always drives the same car on the same route and he never checks under it before he gets in."

"So why can't you just get him with a good bomb?" Darragh moaned. "Why do I have to burst in on Christmas bloody Day and blast his head of? The media will have a propaganda field day with this!"

"The British need a good shock!"

"He's the head guy, Diarmuid! The whole Army out here are under him and I'm going to dander into his house? It's a suicide mission!"

"You're out best assassin, Darragh! You can do this! You did the last guy and you were in a car going seventy getting shot at, and you still got a clean head shot. You can do this."

"I swear, Feeny. If I die then my blood will be on your idiotic hands." Darragh turned and stormed out.